Nightmare Memories
by Andia
Summary: Part one of my series of short Dramatic SLC/DSC pieces...
1. Andia Nowa, My confession

Title: Nightmare Memories- Andia  
  
Author: Andia  
  
Rating: PG-13 for lots of Angst and Dark themes.  
  
Disclaimer: The author Andia, though her name states other wise, does not own the characters in this story with the exception of the nameless old man.  
  
A/N: Part of a Challenge I was issued to write a series of Dramatic and Dark SLC/DSC fanfictions. I hope this works. Now, on to part one!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
My name is Andia Nowa, and this is my confession.  
  
I was five about to turn six when I told my first lie. At the time, a bounty hunter was attacking our village,   
a bounty made by some insane politic that needed our voting power out of the way, or so I was told. I knew the   
way around the forest almost by heart though the wood was ever changing, so I told my fleeing parents that I   
could lead them to a safe place. I ran ahead, not realizing that I had left all those I held dear behind.  
  
I never really saw them again. By now, they're probably dead.  
  
I was seven when ignorance first hit me. I was living with a group of freelance bounty hunters who had agreed   
to train me after quite a bit of discussion. I knew that one of these hunters was responsible for the massacre   
of my village, and I automatically aimed my revenge towards an assassin by the name of Verina due to a grudge she   
had against me. It turned out that she was innocent, and the only one I trusted among them was the true murderer.  
  
Arrogance is a common personality trait for me, I'll admit. Such a particular characteristic came to me when I was   
about fourteen, and began to advance past my teachers in the arts of politics and combat. I boasted, and 'bit off   
more than I could chew' so to speak. I was lucky, for each time I was able to back up such boasts. But, when I   
had hit the age of sixteen, I over stepped my boundaries and because of such many people were hurt.  
  
And I am still picking up the pieces of my lost friendship.  
  
Protectiveness was a new thing to me when I came across a child named Casita, who shared my DNA identity in only a   
way a sister could. She was defenseless and hunted because of the family name she took up. I was protective of my   
blood already, given my parents' death, so I vowed to protect Casita as a small way of seeking forgiveness for not   
killing the one who had murdered my family.  
  
Love is something I know I have only felt briefly in my existence. The first shred of this emotion was when I came   
face to face with Prince Kuyo Kuten, a young brash heir of the Zetain Empire. I was trying to use him to regain   
power over the Velian throne which was rightfully mine by blood, but I found such a task nearly impossible whenever   
his icy blue eyes were set on my own.  
  
I knew jealousy when it formed into Casimalia Nowa, my eldest sister. I envied her charms, her refined state and her   
beauty. She was a thing of light, while my own ugliness was hidden by the shadows in which I dwelled. I knew one   
day she would lead to my downfall, and it was unwelcome knowledge.  
  
Tears were first shed from my eyes as I watched all I had worked for go up in smoke. I watched as wave after wave   
of soldiers conquered the land I had fought for, bled for and longed for. I felt my soul being torn from my body   
along with the stone cold blade removing itself from my heart. You see, the first time I cried was the first time I   
died.  
  
My name is Andia Nowa, and this is my confession.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Starlight tresses of silvery-gold streamed around his thin frame, seemingly strangling the life from the mangled   
and torn body. His breath was slow and labored, chest rising and falling slowly as though his thin grey robes   
pressed down upon him with powerful force. His blind eyes were covered with a thin silver cloth, but the crystal   
brown eye jutting through his wrinkled forehead was far from sightless as it focused on the form before him.  
  
A girl, probably no more than eighteen mortal years old, with eyes of pure molten gold that was tinted red with flames.   
Her own breaths were labored, a tiny bead of sweat running down her pastel face to drip from her chin, landing with   
a silent splatter between her bare feet. Her raven hair and midnight black outfit seemed to blend not only with each   
other, but with the inky shadows in which surrounded the two. Like a crow in the night sky.  
  
"Old man, I grow tired of these games." Her voice was colder than ice, yet it held enough emotion to show her anger   
and weariness. She held her hand out, drawing from her exhausted body even more power than before, getting ready to   
pounce upon the man's fragile form and tear his soul from his body. "Tell me how to escape, or I shall be cross."  
  
Weak folded hands wrapped themselves around the old man's staff, pulling the battered form from the cold stone floor   
and back onto two wrinkled and callused feet. A chin was held high with pride and defiance as he faced his foe   
without fear. "Never shall I tell you! Demons belong in damnation, and I will not be responsible for your release!"  
  
There was a deep echoing clang as the staff hit the floor, fallowed by a thud of a skinny being hitting the floor.   
The golden eyed girl, standing there with her hand still extended and her eyes literally glowing with power, was not   
happy with that.  
  
Her hand dropped as she tumbled to her knees, arms supporting her upper body as she gulped in breaths of stale air.   
Her body trembled with weakness as she tried to reclaim her runaway emotions, to try and pull back the tears of despair   
which sprung to her eyes at the thought of being trapped here with no escape for the rest of her mortal life. She looked   
at the lifeless body of the stargazer spread out across the floor, suddenly realizing that her enemy had not been   
much different from herself.  
  
"He was trapped here too," she whispered silently, her hands clasping her shuttering shoulders to cease the seizers of   
weariness. To keep the darkness buried so it did not spring forth to capture her consciousness once more. "He had been   
trapped here to guard the entrance to heaven. He was like...me."  
  
Another shiver rippled through her thin frame, her eyelids pressed painfully against her skin as she squeezed her eyes   
shut and a whimper broke past her throat. One name echoed through her mind the one name she could point a finger at for   
all the pain she had suffered. For all the pain those she had loved had suffered. For all the pain the old man had suffered   
in his final moments.  
  
"Andia." She whispered the name gently, "My name is Andia." 


	2. Down the Looking Glass

Title: Down the Looking Glass  
Series: Dark Star Chronicles  
Author: Andia  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Drama  
Characters: Casimalia  
Disclaimer: I don't own them...  
Warnings: F/F content, non consensual groping, lots of nightmare  
imagry...  
Summary: Casimalia searches for the truth and an exit from damnation  
  
  
Down the Looking Glass  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It is cold down here. A sneaky, slinking, skulking cold that crawls  
quietly under your skin and slides through your flesh to settle   
against your bones and gnaw on them. There's a soul killing cold   
here. A suffocating chill that winds its way around your throat like   
a silk scarf and pulls hard, blocking off your life.  
  
It is dark here too. Dark like the dark places that lurk behind the  
stars. Dark like the backs of caves, hidden deep beneath the bones   
of stone that hold up the land. Only it's not as pure as stars, and  
it's not as comforting as caves. No, this is ugly darkness. Darkness   
that would be more then happy to eat you alive if it could. Happy to   
tear at you from the inside till it crawls all the way through and  
lays you out on the ground like some ancient sacrifice, skin torn   
and peeled away from the flesh, muscle shredded and pulled away   
from the bone, wooden stakes pinning tendons to the soft earth.  
  
I can't get away. The surface of the pool above me is somehow solid.  
Not a hard sort of solid, like ice, but a soft sort of solid that  
seems to yield for just a moment before rebounding and sending my   
hand bouncing back towards me. It's a cruel tease. The perfect touch.  
  
I have to find a way to get out. There has to be one, there always  
is. Surely the ceiling has some weak point somewhere. I can't give   
up, I don't dare to. But it's so hard and I'm so tired and the more I   
struggle the more it hurts and...  
  
Tears. There are tears on my cheeks. Oh, how odd. How long have I  
been crying? Why can't I remember?  
  
Funny. They feel different from the water of the pool that surrounds  
me. The water is cold, but my tears are warm, hot even. My eyes are   
swollen and burning. They hurt from the stinging of the salt in my   
tears. Oh. I'm still crying. Imagine that.  
  
I hurt. Hurt all over, pain whispering in my veins, playing up the  
sides of my skin. My heart has been torn open and hollowed out,   
leaving noting but an empty ache in the left side of my chest. I   
don't want it to hurt anymore. Why can't I just go numb?  
  
Yama, I wish you were here just to hold me. Where has your soul  
gone, my protecter, my friend? Your body is ashes, ashes and dust,   
dust and ashes, just the same as the palace, but your soul...I am sure   
your soul is somewhere else. I wonder where. I pray that no part of   
you has been bound to this world, and yet...I would give anything   
to say goodbye properly, the way I never got a chance to.  
  
No. I will not wish it. May you be free from pain and fear, Yama.  
I, at least, will remember you always.  
  
You were my hope for the future. My brother, my friend, my protector,  
my living heart, you were all these things and more. I miss you  
dearly. I will never forget you.  
  
Andia? Sister? Andia, there is a secret I must tell you. A horrible  
something that I have to say or it will fester. A nightmare that I   
need you to sooth away, as I soothed your nightmares when we   
were both children. Please listen, Andia. Please listen.  
  
It doesn't seem as if it could have been real. Those hands sliding  
over my faint curves weren't really there. I dreamed how demanding   
they were, how insistent. It couldn't have happened. My darker self   
could not have forced her mouth onto mine. It couldn't have been  
real, but if it wasn't then why am I here?  
  
It was real. I didn't dream shockingly strong arms holding me,keeping   
me from struggling. I didn't dream harsh kisses down my neck and   
shoulders. I didn't dream hands plucking insistently at my clothing.  
I didn't dream any of it.  
  
I want to make the memory go away. I want to never be that helpless  
again. But I still am that helpless. I'm still caught by that other  
me. I'm still lost.  
  
Please Andia, come and find me. I need help and you are the only one  
left who loves me more then duty. Please my sister, I want to be able  
to hug you and tell you how afraid I am. Please come, I need you.   
  
But you can't find me, can you? I'm hidden too well, locked too far  
away. I can't wait for you to save me, I'm going to have to save  
myself.  
  
How? I don't know how. I know how to rescue others, I know how to  
pull at the threads of time and history, but I don't know how to  
fight myself. For once in my life I have no plan.  
  
The darkness around me whispers gently in my ear, suddenly as  
considerate and sweet as a lover. It wraps its razor edges in black  
silk, pretending to be harmless, hiding the danger behind thin   
veils. It takes on a seductive appearance, murmuring promises   
sweet as silvered honey.  
  
'Relax,' it purrs, 'Just calm down. Don't struggle so hard. Lean  
back. Let go. Fall. Fall into me and tumble down. I'll catch you.  
I'll take your pain and lock it up somewhere far away so you   
don't have to look at it. Let go. Come to me.'  
  
I close my eyes and shudder, trying to block out those deadly sweet  
slitherings. I'm not fooled. I am being offered death, extinquishment  
of self. I will not listen. Even though it is tempting I will not  
surrender. I will not go quietly into the gentle night.  
  
Since Yama loved me greatly, and trusted me just as much as he  
loved me, I cannot give up. Who would I be if I violated his faith  
like that? It would be a crime against my memory of him, and   
against myself. So I cannot give up.  
  
Since Andia loves me enough to destroy herself for me, I must be able  
to find a way to live for her. I cannot simply stop trying and leave  
her to the tender mercies of my darker self. I must escape and   
overpower this other part of me, if only so that she cannot harm my   
sister.  
  
It's all because loving people binds you to the world. It means you  
can't simply give up on the future or on life. You have to keep  
trying, even when you're sure that the trying will kill you. Because   
if you don't try then you are worse then nothing.   
  
Black water fills my lungs, robbing me of strength. But I still keep  
fighting, because, despite it all, I know that I have to live. Even   
though I want it badly, I can't have my wish.  
  
I raise my hand, and begin to pound against the solid surface of the  
spring. 


	3. Sonata in My Hands

Title: Sonata in my Hands  
Series: Dark Star Chronicles  
Author: Andia  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Drama/Angst  
Characters: Andia  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, sniffle  
*sniffsniff* The *Hoshimi* isn't mine either (thankfully).  
Warnings: Some f/f content, brief mentions of drug use (not Andi-chan),  
and um...That's it.   
Summary: A wish of one willing to sacrifice everything.  
  
  
  
Sonata in my Hands  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When I was little I would spend hours playing with my sister's hair.  
It was long and smooth as rain clouds against the skin of my   
hands. It was one of the prettiest things I had ever seen. I would   
comb it out and braid it, or put it up in buns. Sometimes I just ran   
my fingers through it so I could feel the silver strands sliding   
through them.  
  
Casimalia liked it when I touched her. Our parents were not people given  
to open displays of affection and we both felt the lack. So we turned   
to each other for the sort of family love that we had trouble  
finding. We were very close because of that, she and I. Where one of   
us was the other was sure to be nearby.   
  
We often fell asleep together, cuddled close to keep each other safe  
from the sad ghosts that were all that was left of the lonely people.   
We played hopscotch games in a world bleached pale and strange by   
the sun. She would make me hot chocolate the way they make it in   
Mexico, so rich and thick it might well stand up without the aid of   
the mug. I made her messy riceballs for her lunches. She helped me   
with my homework. Our lives were twined together.  
  
I miss that. It hurts to see my sister bound the way she is. I know  
that this is not good for her, and I know that she knows that. I   
know that she wishes for freedom above all else. The difference   
between us is that I'm willing to do something about it.  
  
Casimlia is bound by what she considers to be her duty. She believes  
that she cannot abandon it or she will cease to be herself. I know   
better. There is no duty, save that which you freely and consciously   
choose. How then can my sister possibly be bound? How can she   
have a duty? She has never been allowed to make her own choices,   
or follow her own wishes.  
  
I will set my sister free, no matter what I have to do, or who I have  
to help. Even if it means bringing the end of the world. Even if it   
means binding myself to Kahima. Casimalia's freedom is worth it.  
  
These people I support and care for are dangerous to me. Especially  
the Hoshimi, he is too unpredictable to be trusted. I fully expect that   
he will be the death of me. But he won't kill me yet. At the moment   
I am still far too useful to him for him to get rid of me.   
  
What I am doing is dangerous, I know that. I choose this freely,  
unlike my sister. I do this for her, even if she doesn't understand.   
There is a sort of beauty in that, is there not?  
  
I have always loved beauty, in whatever form I can find it. There are  
so very many kinds and shapes of beauty you could no more find   
them all then you could find all of the stars. And yet I try.  
  
There is the beauty of sunrises watched on cold mornings all wrapped  
in blankets till only your nose can be seen. There is the beauty of  
your sister's hair spread across your palms. There is the hard, fierce  
beauty of nightclubs where names mean nothing and all that is asked   
is a dance. There is the slow, sweet beauty of flesh sliding against   
flesh in dusky silence. There is the beauty of fire blossoming  
against the neon night. There is the beauty of the strength needed to   
stay at the side of a loved one dying in pain, as well. And of course  
there is the beauty of loving someone so much that you are willing   
to do what is right for them, no matter how much it much it hurts   
you both.  
  
I often wish to find someone who will see beauty in me. That is not  
my Wish, but it is a wish of mine. My dreams are often full of the   
fulfillment of that wish, of gentle hands in my hair and a soft mouth  
on my neck, sweet, sincere whispers tickling the outer shell of my  
ear. *loveyou, you're so very beautiful, stay with me, i'll stay with   
you* In the dream I cannot tell whether it is a man or a woman who   
speaks, but it doesn't matter. It never has.  
  
I have the misfortune of being drawn to anyone who will give me love,  
or even the semblance of love. I crave affection, love, touch, as  
surely as a heroin addict craves the next hit. It doesn't matter who's  
offering it to me. I don't care if they're male or female, young or  
old, all that matters is that they offer me love.  
  
There was a girl once, with wild dark brown hair and eyes that always  
seemed to hide a piece of her. I used to see her in clubs, whirling  
and writhing under the dim blue lights, losing herself completely in  
the music. And perhaps drugs too, I think now, looking back on it.   
But I didn't know that then, and never mind it anyway it doesn't   
matter, what matters is that she was so beautiful it hurt.   
  
She danced with me once, her hair tossing as she moved with and  
against me. Her eyes were fever bright and far away, as if she was   
looking at something I couldn't see. Her hands moved like captured   
doves, restless, desperate, trapped. She was looking for a way out of   
her delirium, looking for someone to lift her up that ladder she  
couldn't seem to climb. She was lost in her own darkness.   
  
And of course all that only made her beautiful. There's something  
deeply compelling about that kind of desperation and pain.   
Something that steps beyond the ugly tawdriness that's usually   
associated with the underside of the city's world.   
  
When she kissed me a wall deep inside me broke and the shreds of  
thought that said that I shouldn't do this, that we were too much   
alike, she and I, all went spinning off somewhere far away where they   
couldn't bother me. So I kissed back, letting her cling to my  
shoulders and mold into me. Just two flames, that's all we were, and   
she was hotter then I, burning ice hot against my skin. It seemed as   
if she was trying to melt into my flesh, become a part of me so she   
didn't have to be a part of her anymore.  
  
We clung to each other like that for the longest time, drunk on  
pleasure and the rush of the dance. I don't know how long that  
lasted, time meant nothing while we stood there. But at last she   
pulled away and smiled, sadness and a faint trace of love   
glimmering in those depthless eyes.  
  
"Best stay away from me," She said, "I am a dangerous angel." She  
rose up on the tips of her toes and brushed her lips across my brow.   
And then she was gone, disappeared into the crowd as if she had   
never been standing within my arms.  
  
Dangerous angel, she said, I am a dangerous angel. I didn't care. I  
wanted to see more of that glimmer in her eyes. Besides, I am a   
dangerous angel as well. I am no different from her really, except   
that I have a purpose to keep guiding me out of the darkness. I have   
to free my sister.  
  
Casimalia loves me enough to do anything for me. She would die to save  
me, or live to keep my heart alive, or even, if she had to make the   
choice, kill another to preserve my life. I return that love, and  
because of it I am able to do whatever I have to. Even if,  
ultimately, I have to kill my sister, or bring about her death to set   
her free I will be able to do it, because I love her.  
  
Do not misunderstand me, I do not relish the thought of killing  
Casimalia. Quite the opposite in fact. The very idea that I might be the   
reason for those beloved eyes going dark and empty makes me feel   
cold and hollowed out. I *hate* that things might come to that. But  
if I had to choose between a world where Casimalia was alive and   
chained to her visions, and a world where she was dead, but free, I   
would choose the second.  
  
You see, death would only end my sister's life, not destroy who she  
is. If this sort of endless seeing continues then she will no longer  
be the person who is my sister, she will be someone else, a battered  
and empty someone else. I could not bear to watch that happen. I   
love her too much to be able to let her be destroyed that way.  
  
This then is my wish, that you, Casimalia, might be free. Please forgive  
me for what I do, my sister. I love you. 


End file.
